Robot Boy
by Katharra
Summary: Jensen's life hasn't exactly been a walk in the park.
1. Chapter 1

_**Authorn's Note:** This story was inspired by the single movie line "Sounds like my family." I've changed Jensen's first name from the series._

Theodore Frederick Jensen was the second child to Bob and Molly Jensen, after his sister Meagan, who was 4 years older. Bob and Molly Jensen lived in a 3-bedroom, 1 1/2-bathroom bungalow built shortly after WWII in a sprawling suburb in Omaha. Bob was thrilled at the prospect of having a son, and immediately planned future fishing and hunting trips, as well as the sports that he would enrol his son in. Football and hockey sprang to the forefront quickly. Unfortunately for Bob, it didn't take long for the symptoms of poor eyesight to make itself known in his small boy. Teddy was 4 when he was nearly knocked unconscious by a well-placed soccer ball that sailed straight into his face. Teddy was the goalkeeper, and while initially his father guffawed over the seemingly amazing save his son made, his smile rapidly faded when he spotted the blood spurting through Teddy's fingers and the high-pitched wailing that signalled his son's tears. With a mixture of embarrassment and disappointment, Bob led Teddy off the field by his elbow and to the nearest clinic where a doctor gave him a good prognosis (no broken nose) followed by a bad one ("Have you had his eyes checked?"). Days later, shockingly thick-lenses in gaudy black-plastic frames were combined with a shockingly large price tag. Bob was not a happy camper to say the least.

Teddy could feel his father's disappointment acutely. His father rarely spoke to him, and when he did it was usually to yell at him to turn down that piece of shit television or to quit bothering him and go outside already. Teddy learned at an early age to associate his father with general unpleasantness. He rarely seemed to make his father happy, if at all. Most of the time, Teddy was downright afraid of his father and the simmering anger that always lurked underneath the cold exterior.

His mother wasn't exactly a joyride herself. She was perpetually tired. So tired that she barely had time to look after him and often told him that he would need to play by himself as mommy was in need of a nap. Teddy found it odd that these naps frequently coincided with mommy's penchant for her "special juice" that she refused to share with Teddy, which he found enormously unfair. One day, while she was taking a nap, Teddy crawled up onto a chair and then onto the countertop and then reached up into the top shelf of the cupboard beside their faded yellow fridge where mommy stored her special juice. He had to dig it out from behind several cans and cartons of food that blocked the way. When he finally pulled it down, he unscrewed the cap and took a deep whiff. The scent nearly singed his nostril hairs right off. He grimaced, wondered why on earth this stuff was so special and then took a tentative sip. The result was explosive. He started coughing violently with tears running down his face. He dropped the bottle on the countertop and scurried over to the sink. He let the water run full blast and dipped his chin under the stream of water, lapping up as much as he could as quickly as he could. He slurped the water hungrily, trying to wash away the bitter taste of the double-crossing juice.

He was now convinced that either his mother was certifiably nuts, or that she had somehow tragically lost her taste buds in some sort of freak accident when she was a child. He decided that he should do his utmost to rectify the situation with his mother as soon as possible. There was a better way for her to live, and he knew the answer: Kool-Aid. He brought it up that night at dinner.

As the family of four was gathered for a meal of steamed peas, mashed potatoes and overcooked pork-chops, Teddy asked his mother innocently if she had never tried Kool-Aid before. His mother looked at him quizzically before responding that yes, of course she had tried Kool-Aid and why was he asking such silly questions?

"Because it's much better than the gross juice you drink everyday."

Teddy had never seen his mother blush so furiously and he found her sudden silence quite strange. His father seemed to take particular interest in this new turn of events.

"What's this about gross juice?"

Teddy looked at his father from across the table and frowned. "The special juice mommy drinks." He answered. He found it odd that his father didn't know about this disgusting concoction.

Bob cast a severe glance at Molly who stared intently at her half-eaten peas on the plate. "What juice?" He asked again, this time at his wife. Molly retained her silence and refused to look at him.

Teddy pointed at the cabinet beside the fridge. "The juice in there."

Bob got up from the table. Something patted Teddy's arm. He looked to his left where his sister Meagan sat. Meagan was patting his arm, motioning him to stop pointing. Teddy cocked his head at her in confusion. Meagan's face was pale and sweaty, her eyes wide. The hand on Teddy's arm was trembling. Meagan was clearly terrified. A sick feeling formed in Teddy's gut. He knew instinctively that he had just done something very, very bad and he wished he could take the last 3 minutes back with all his heart.

His father opened the cabinet and fished around inside. He finally pulled out a half-empty bottle of vodka. He grasped the bottle by the neck and stared at it murderously, as if the bottle itself had deceived him in some treacherous way. Then his gaze settled on the back of Molly's head.

"Did you drink this, Molly?" He asked slowly, quietly.

Meagan squeezed Teddy's hand underneath the table. The only sound in the room came from the ticking of the clock above the kitchen window. It ticked on and on and the seconds it counted took on an ominous air. Teddy glanced at his mother. She was still staring at her plate but there was a slight tremble in her chin.

"Do you drink this while you're supposed to be watching our son, Molly?"

Bob took a step towards Molly's back.

Teddy's eyes welled with tears that spilled down his cheeks, but he was too scared to move or breathe. Bob slammed the bottle on the table in front of Molly's plate and the children jumped in their seats. Bob grasped the back of Molly's chair and brought his mouth to her ear. "I asked you a fucking question."

Molly shakily turned her head to face her husband, her eyes wet with tears that stubbornly refused to fall. Bob was red in the face, his eyebrows knitted tightly together as he waited for his wife's response. Molly turned up a defiant chin towards him. "Who else would have fucking drank it, you dumb sack of shit?"

The slap across her face was swift and violent. Molly's head swung to the side and she gasped softly as she cupped her swollen cheek with her hand.

Meagan's hand tightened urgently on Teddy's. In one quick move, Meagan had led Teddy out of his chair and down the hall to his bedroom. Teddy heard the sharp staccato beat of more slaps mixed with his mother's pained wailing. He frantically tried to look over his shoulder, but found himself forcibly pushed into his bedroom. Meagan sat him down on his bed and covered his ears with his own hands. Then she closed the door behind them and sat on the bed with her arms cradling Teddy's small, shaking body. She placed her own hands over his, tightening the hold on his ears.

Despite the added protection of his sister's hands on his ears, Teddy could still hear the crash of overturned furniture and the frightened screams of his mother and the furious yells of his father.

He never talked about his mom's activities in the afternoon to his father again.


	2. Chapter 2

He hated his name. When he turned 13 he tried introducing himself as his last name, Jensen. But his name was always leaked out, and it inevitably led to the school nickname of Teddy Ruxpin, which had originated in elementary and followed him right into junior high. He was shorter and lighter than the other kids and his overly large glasses and lack of athletic skill made him an easy and obvious target for bullying. He didn't like violence. He had enough of it at home to know that he didn't have the knack for it at school. So while the kids pushed him into the ground and began pummelling him with fists, he prudently covered his expensive glasses so they wouldn't break but didn't try to defend himself otherwise. While the kids punched his stomach, they requested Teddy Ruxpin songs. He stubbornly refused to sing any Teddy Ruxpin songs (he was more of a Smurfs fan himself), and instead held his breath until an adult saved him or they grew tired of him.

After one particularly long beating, Jensen hobbled home, nearly bent over at the waist from the pain emanating in his gut. He stumbled into the house, planning on doing nothing else but burying himself in his bedroom and licking his wounds for the rest of the century. Instead, he was surprised to find his father sitting at the kitchen table, with a half empty glass of scotch in front of him and a cigarette burning in the ashtray. Jensen stared at his father apprehensively for a few moments, though it seemed his father didn't notice his arrival.

"Dad? What are you doing home so early?"

His father took a long drag of his cigarette and shrugged. "Got laid off." He jammed the cigarette in the ashtray and swallowed the rest of his scotch, without once ever raising his eyes.

Jensen suddenly realized that someone was missing. "Where's mom?" He asked urgently.

"Gone to get groceries," his father answered. Bob finally took stock of the boy and surveyed him critically. "Why are you so dirty? Is that blood on your shirt?"

Jensen self-consciously glanced down at his soiled clothes. His eyes wandered around the room as he furtively tried to come up with some sort of believable story. "Just some horsing around after school and I guess me and the guys took it too far," he said with a nonchalant shrug and over compensatory smile.

His father immediately saw through it. He snorted and played with the empty glass on the table. "You and I both know that you don't have any friends." The smile rapidly left Jensen's face. His father shook his head ruefully. "Figures I would get a fucking fairy for a kid."

The words were like a slap across Jensen's face. The two remained in an uncomfortable stand-off, neither willing to move or say anything for a span of minutes. Jensen was the first to cave in. "I'm going to my room," he mumbled as he shouldered his backpack and left the kitchen.

"Knock yourself out," his father muttered.

* * *

He had been given a Sega for one of his birthdays a few years ago. Over the years since, he had amassed a small library of videogames to choose from. Some were presents, some he had obtained by saving up allowances for months and others he had shrewdly gambled for with other videogame aficionados, usually by betting them that if he could beat them at their own videogame, he should get that game in return because they were obviously too incompetent to continue playing such a game. Needless to say, he no longer had many companions that wanted to play videogames with him. More often than not, he was alone in his bedroom playing videogames and trying to ignore anything and everything that happened outside his bedroom walls.

He was into his second straight hour of playing when there was a sharp rap on his bedroom door. He was surprised and somewhat worried by the appearance of his father in his doorway. "You got school tomorrow?"

Jensen frowned. "It's Friday, dad."

"So that's a 'no', then."

Jensen's frown deepened in anticipation of what his father was getting at.

"We're going hunting tomorrow. Make sure you get lots of rest tonight."

Before Jensen could open his mouth to protest, his father slammed his door shut and trudged away down the hallway.

* * *

Jensen was woken up at an ungodly time in the morning, before the sun had even considered coming up. His father flicked on the light and told him in no uncertain terms to get his ass out of bed and dressed because they were leaving in 15. Jensen flailed around in his bed, searching blindly for his glasses that were perched precariously on the bedside table. He smacked them once and they fell to the floor. Jensen swore under his breath. _This day's off to a great start._

He yanked on a well-worn pair of cargo pants and layered a long shirt underneath a black t-shirt. His dad had bought him a camouflage jacket as a Christmas present the previous winter, which had gone completely unused until now. With a sigh, Jensen dug it from the back of his closet. He shrugged on the thick canvas material and laced up his hiking boots. He took one final survey of his bedroom before leaving, wondering what he was forgetting as usual.

He could feel eyes on the back of his head. He turned his head slightly to see his father leaning impatiently against his door jam. "Anytime, sweetheart."

Jensen nodded once. On the way out of his bedroom, he spied a comic book laying half open on his stereo that he hadn't devoured yet. He swiped it off the top of the stereo and stuffed it into his jacket.

* * *

His dad's rusted blue Bronco was neatly packed with their gear and idling in the driveway. Jensen hopped into the passenger seat and did up his seatbelt. His father left his undone as he pulled the gearshift down into drive. It was less than a minute later that his dad opened up his cigarette pack with one hand and lit one up. Jensen's eyebrows quirked upwards. _Doubling his chances, I see._

After 20 minutes of driving in silence, Jensen pulled out his comic book and read silently. His father was sucking back his second cigarette. Bob looked over at Jensen critically.

"What's that shit you're reading there?"

Jensen looked at his father first, then looked at the cover of his magazine as his surprise in his father's sudden interest in him had made him temporarily forget the name of the comic. "Uh, it's _CyberForce._"

His father cast one confused glance at him and then stared straight at the road ahead of them. Thick woods were approaching. "And what the fuck is _CyberForce?_"

Jensen shrugged as an appreciative grin played across his face. "It's this comic that's pretty cool. One of the guys from the X-Men broke away and started doing this comic about these cyborgs. See, there's this one Indian guy who's sort of like Wolverine. And then there's Cyblade, well they should just start calling her "CyBabe" because-"

Before he could finish explaining, his father snatched up the comic out of his stunned hands. And then to his horror, his father unrolled the window and threw his comic into the sucking wind. Jensen's head whipped around to watch the destruction of his comic as it was shredded in the highway by oncoming traffic. He slowly turned back around in his seat, gazing at his father in disbelief.

His father shot a quick look at him. "You know what your problem is Ted?"

Jensen stared at the dashboard. "I have a feeling you're about to tell me," he said under his breath. There was a pronounced pause in which Jensen was expecting his father to cuff him upside the head for his comment. But the smack never came.

"You're living in a fantasy world. You get beat up at school, and instead of fighting back, you run home and play videogames. You're turning into a pussy, kid. This world is a harsh, hostile place. You either go down fighting or you may as well throw in the towel right now, kid."

Jensen didn't answer his father. His head was spinning with anger and frustration. His father looked at him. "I'm trying to help you. You should appreciate it more."

* * *

Despite his appearance as a super-nerd, Jensen was surprisingly proficient with a firearm. This was the direct result of his dad's instruction from the time he was old enough to grasp a rifle combined with the countless hours of duck hunting games he played at home. Jensen knew his way around a rifle and knew how to be quiet in the woods. He also considered this excursion a vital training exercise in honing his ninja skills. The thought made him smile.

His father caught the ghost of a smile on his son's face and felt a surge of pride. Perhaps the apple hadn't strayed that far after all.

A gentle snap caught both father and son's attention and they froze in a crouch in response. Bob spied the movement 20 yards out and motioned to his son. Jensen nodded.

It was a young buck, moving cautiously through the woods, sniffing and nibbling as it went. Jensen raised his rifle and sighted the deer through the scope. Holding his breath, he flicked off the safety and cocked the rifle as quietly as possible. Nonetheless, the deer paused and raised its head. Sensitive ears pivoted as they tried to pick up any sound close by. Its tail flicked warily.

Jensen did not pull the trigger. His father cast him an urgent glance. Jensen ignored it. He slowly lowered his gun. He could feel his father's burning glare. Jensen looked down at the forest floor and then nearly fell off his haunches when the sharp snap of gunfire jolted him in surprise. In a panic, he raised his gun again and wildly looked from his father to the spot the deer had been. His father was standing slowly, slinging his rifle over his shoulder. His father glared down at him.

"Get up." Bob's voice was low, dangerous.

Jensen slowly rose to his feet and followed his father dutifully. The deer had managed to run after it was shot, leaving a barely distinguishable trail of blood amongst the leaves for them to follow. It didn't take long to find the downed deer, lying with its neck at an odd angle and blood pooling out of its mouth and collecting on the soft camel-beige of its chin.

Jensen wondered if it choked on its own blood and grimaced.

His father crouched before the door and checked the shot in the chest. He laid his gun on the ground and began digging around in his pockets and his belt. He absently handed Jensen a knife.

"Well, lets get it trussed up then."

Jensen stared at the proffered knife and his father ludicrously. "Here?"

His father snorted and gave him a humorous look. "Well, yeah here. Don't think your mother would appreciate this thing hanging in the garage, do you?"

Jensen blinked.

His father pressed the knife at him. Jensen took a step backwards. His father stared at him and then shook his head in resignation. He jammed the knife into the soft earth and placed his hands on his knees as he made his way to his feet.

"Boy, I tell you I've just about had it up to here with you." Bob made a cutting motion towards his forehead with the palm of his hand. He stood over Jensen and stared him challengingly in the eye. Jensen refused to meet his gaze. The hot breath of his father washed over his face making Jensen flinch. His father took a dangerous step in towards him, towering over his son. "Get your ass over there."

Jensen's face hardened into a resolute frown. "No," he said quietly.

The answer took Bob by surprise. "No?" he parroted. He pushed his son roughly. "No? You know when I was your age, if I so much as looked at my old man wrong, he would have knocked me clear across this forest and left me for dead. You need to learn some manners, boy." He pushed Jensen again.

Then Jensen did something that would later make him question his own sanity. He swung and nailed a vicious a left onto his father's chin. Bob's head rocked to the side as he staggered back a step. He massaged his jaw. Jensen felt his blood run cold as realization sunk in. His father slowly turned to look at him. Jensen's mouth was dry even though he was immediately trying to form some sort of apology or excuse. His father grinned. Jensen was paralysed to the spot.

His father's punch was much more devastating. Jensen tasted blood behind a split lip and the force of the punch knocked him onto his back and ungracefully onto the ground. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and saw blood. Fear and anger coiled wildly in his veins as his father took a threatening step towards him, fist raised. Jensen scrambled backwards and grabbed a handful of dirt and twigs. He flung it at his father's face, hurtling the earthy mixture into his eyes. Bob gave a cry of irritation as he rubbed his eyes furiously and Jensen took advantage of the momentary reprieve. He got up and ran.

Jensen was a quick runner; he'd had lots of practice thanks to jackasses at school who kept trying to steal his lunch money or his glasses. His legs carried him through the forest, past sharp branches that slashed at his face and hands, over downed trees and thorny brush. The cool breeze against his face made his eyes water, or maybe something else did. It wasn't long before his cheeks burned with the hot sting of tears. He ran until his lungs were beating against his ribcage, until his legs felt like rubber, and he found himself back at the Bronco.

He doubled over with his hands on shaky knees, greedily gulping in as much air as his sobbing chest could take in. He wiped his runny nose on the back of his jacket and took his glasses off so he could pinch his closed eyes and will himself to stop crying. He leaned against the Bronco's hood and calculated his next move. He had nowhere to run. He had no supplies, no means to support him. He didn't have a phone and even if he did, he had no one to call. He resignedly accepted his fate that he would have to wait for his father to return. And somehow, he would have to face him again.

* * *

Hours later, when the sun was beginning its descent and Jensen's body began to shiver against the encroaching cold, his father returned. Jensen squinted at him. His father trudged up to him, carrying his rifle and Jensen's, and a small bag over his shoulder. Jensen's body tensed, which made his shivers even more visible on his small frame. His father gave him one perfunctory look and spat on the ground. Then he strode to the driver's side of the Bronco and opened the door to hop inside. For a moment, Jensen worried that his father wouldn't let him in; that he would abandon him there just like he threatened his grandfather would have done. But his fear abated when his father leaned across the bench seat to flip up the lock. Jensen scrambled inside and quickly did up his seatbelt. He was too terrified to even look at his father.

Bob reached into the back seat and yanked on the small sack he had carried back with him. He dumped it on Jensen's lap. "That's for you."

Confused, Jensen looked suspiciously from his father to the bag. Tentatively, he opened the bag. His mouth hung open. The bag only contained the horns of the deer and a small patch of furry skin from which they were sheared.

The remains of the buck had been left to rot in the forest.


	3. Chapter 3

By the time Jensen was in high school, he had found that humour and fast-talking was his best defence against bullies and overly-aggressive teachers. With teachers, he found his technique quickly defused a tense classroom situation although it sometimes landed him in detention. With bullies, it usually gave him a vital moment in which to get a head start on running away while they attempted to process his latest jibe. Overall, his experience with high school was as predictable as his junior high experience was. Girls pegged him as a nuisance, jocks saw him as a weak nerd and teachers found him to be smart, quick-witted but lacking in focus at times. Jensen couldn't say that he necessarily disagreed with any of their observations.

But Brock Peterson was a new breed of bully that Jensen hadn't anticipated. And really, with a name like 'Brock', what couldn't you be but a bully?

Brock Peterson came from a wealthy family with a history of lawyers and politicians in their wake. The Petersons lived in an upscale neighbourhood with large brick colonial houses and manicured lawns. Brock was given his first car when he was 16; it was a '69 Roadrunner that his father had handsomely paid a mechanic to fix up so it was nice and shiny for his son's birthday.

Jensen knew this, because the mechanic just happened to be his father.

The car was smoking hot. Even Jensen had to admit that, although he was far from being a gear head. All the guys envied that car and the girls who rode with Brock were slim, pretty, and had low self-esteem. Girls like that fed off any sort of attention they could get, and Brock got plenty of it thanks to his car, so the equation naturally led to a steady rotation of girlfriends.

In short, he was everything that Jensen was not. And although this should have made Jensen invisible to someone like that, for some unfathomable reason, Jensen was more visible to Brock Peterson than he was to his own mother. Brock seemed irked by Jensen's very existence and he never made an exception at humiliating Jensen at every opportunity. Jensen did his best to stay out of Brock's line of sight, but it was difficult when their lockers were in the same wing of the high school.

The first run in they had was during Jensen's first month of school. Brock had arrived at high school with a veritable army of jock friends who all quickly located each other within the first week and never went anywhere without at least one member of the club in attendance.

The said group of leather jacket-clad idiots were throwing each other against lockers in a stupidly loud display of male aggression. Jensen cast the group a wary glance as he yanked his books out of the locker. Brock had one of his friends in a headlock when he noticed Jensen for the first time.

"Hey, Jensen, right?"

Jensen's eyes went wide. He nodded, casting worried glances about him at all the girls who were gathered on the opposite side of the hallway, whispering and giggling to each other as they watched Brock's every move intensely.

"You trying out for football this year?"

The question stunned Jensen. He clutched his books with both hands as he searched for an appropriate answer. "Um, yeah. I don't know. I hadn't really thought of it," he stammered. He scratched his scalp absently. "I guess I-"

Brock burst into a fit of laughter. He released his friend's head who similarly doubled over with a loud donkey-like braying. Brock slapped his hand against a locker as he laughed. Everyone who had been walking casually in the hallway now paused to see what the commotion was all about. Brock finally caught his breath and dramatically wiped a tear from his eye. He grabbed Jensen by the shoulder and squeezed. Jensen flinched under the pressure.

"Dude, I was totally joking. Look at you! Actually, no, wait. You should try out for the football team. Maybe if you're lucky they'll pick you as a waterboy. Do your best Adam Sandler impression."

Jensen's cheeks burned as he felt the amused stares on the back of his neck. Time seemed to come to a complete halt as Jensen carefully weighed his next words. He couldn't run, he couldn't fight back. There was only one thing he could do.

"Well, that is some h-h-h-high quality H-2-Oh."

The silence was broken as loud snickers erupted throughout the hall. Students resumed their comings and goings and one even patted him on the back. "Nice job, man."

Jensen's face broke into a wide grin. He nodded his thanks to those that congratulated him, even saluted a few. But when he turned back to Brock and his buddies, his smile quickly vanished. Brock was glaring at him. He knew that glare. It was a dangerous one, one that reeked of retribution.

* * *

After that, Brock never missed out on an opportunity to let Jensen have it. There were the usual tactics; tripping Jensen in a crowded hallway, welding his locker shut (why anyone decided that welding equipment and teenage boys should ever be introduced was beyond him) and the memorable incident involving his jeans being stolen from the gym locker while he was in class. He later found them stuffed in a urinal and soaked in piss. The walk home in his gym shorts was particularly unpleasant, given that it was the first day of winter.

Jensen was annoyed and angered by it, but couldn't figure out how to fight back in an effective way. It wasn't as simple as running away or throwing a fist. He had to meditate long upon his revenge before it finally came to him.

He would have given up on revenge long before he had an opportunity to engage in it if Brock hadn't pushed the final straw. While the two were sitting in History one afternoon, Brock announced loudly that he was having some difficulties with his car and put the blame squarely on the drunk idiot that did the work. Some asshole named "Robert Jensen". Multiple eyes turned to stare at the back of Jensen's head, waiting eagerly for his reaction. Jensen grit his teeth together so harshly that anyone close to him would have heard the enamel being ground away. Brock smirked at the reaction and further announced that his father was having court papers drawn up that day.

Initially, Jensen had believed this threat to be just that. It wasn't until he got home and heard the accusatory screeches of his mother levelled at his father and his father's slamming of plates on the floor in return that he knew Brock hadn't just been talking a lot of hype. Jensen skirted around the battlefield that was the kitchen to get to the hallway. As he flicked on the light to his bedroom, he heard his mother screaming about losing the house and his father's response that he would burn it down well before anyone got a chance. That one made Jensen grimace.

Enough was enough. Jensen threw his backpack to the floor and got onto his computer. For his birthday last year, his sister saved up an entire summer's worth of wages to buy him his own computer. Jensen had been speechless when she gave it to him. She smiled kindly at his agape jaw and told him to try his best to use his power for good instead of evil. Jensen made a mental note to try to do some charity work after this latest deed to even out the bad karma he was about to incur.

It was no secret in school that Brock was saving up quite a bit of money to attend spring break festivities even though he wasn't even of drinking age. Despite that tiny issue, Brock was saving up money, booking flights and hotels for him and 3 of his closest friends and talking up a storm about all the activities they would engage in (which were really just 2 activities – getting drunk and hooking up with equally drunk college chicks). Jensen had no problem hacking into Brock's bank account and pulling up his banking records. He noted with some satisfaction that Brock seemed to have an insatiable appetite for online porn. Jensen then did some research on local charities that were in need of donations. Jensen figured that if he was going to need to do some charity work to even out his karma, perhaps Brock could benefit from it too. With some irony in mind, Jensen donated the entire savings account of Brock Peterson to "Sex Addicts Anonymous".

But Jensen didn't stop there. He tapped into Mr. Peterson Sr.'s bank and transferred a healthy sum of his money into an offshore account that had recently undergone an extensive federal investigation for apparently benefiting South American drug lords. Jensen made sure that the paper trail from the deposit led squarely and neatly back to Brock's father.

Jensen leaned back in his used office chair and surveyed the results of his bad-ass hacking skills. He was quite proud of himself.

* * *

The next day at school, Brock was unusually quiet. He ignored the girls that were crowding him, and even impatiently pushed one off his desk. Her withering look would have terrified most boys, Jensen included. Brock morosely slumped over in his desk with his check cupped in the palm of his hand while he stared absently ahead of him and unconsciously gouged his pencil into the wooden surface. His eyes slowly trailed over and noticed Jensen's watchful eyes. His already miserable frown instantly deepened.

"What the fuck are you looking at, freak?"

Jensen shrugged and flipped open his textbook. The corners of his mouth twitched upwards in a smirk.

* * *

About a week later, Brock was absent from school. Rumours started flying about his dad being in some sort of legal trouble and that something big was happening at the Peterson home. Curiosity piqued, Jensen followed a healthy sized crowd of students that was making its way to Brock Peterson's house.

Federal agent vehicles surrounded the house, along with numerous news vans. Pretty reporters fixed their hair and make-up in side mirrors before taking their places in front of the news cameras, practiced frowns in place as they relayed the story of a once-respected man of the community now being implicated in the drug trade.

The large oak door to the Peterson house opened and audible gasps rose up from the crowd. Mr. Peterson, who was much shorter than Jensen had pictured, was being led away from the house in cuffs, a federal agent on either side of him. Behind him, his wife's aging face was drawn, her eyes tearful, yet she stoically refused to openly weep in front of the crowd of reporters and onlookers. Behind her, lurking in the doorway, stood Brock. He wore a deep frown and looked out uncertainly into the sea of gawking schoolmates.

Jensen felt a tiny twinge of guilt.

* * *

He left the crowd and made his way home, stopping at his favourite comic book store to peruse the newest issues and peering into the window of a computer shop, drooling at all the equipment he couldn't afford. By the time he made his way down the sidewalk to his house, it was dark. The darkness enchanced the sharp glare of rotating red lights that bounced off of windows and siding. Jensen felt something grow cold in the core of his body. He began running towards his house.

He stopped at the end of his sidewalk where two police cars sat. A few of his neighbours were gathered on the front lawn. He ran up to one of them, an elderly woman named Patsy who lived right next door with her two poodles.

"Mrs. Henricks? What's going on? Is my mom okay?"

Patsy, who's attention had been glued to the front door of his house, now turned a pitiful eye towards Jensen. "Oh sweetie. I'm sorry. They just took your momma away in an ambulance."

Jensen's mouth fell open in shock. "Why? What happened to my mom?"

Patsy shook her head and clucked her tongue disapprovingly. "That sonofabitch father of yours beat the living tar out of her. I'm sorry sweetie. Your sister is coming by to watch over you."

Jensen turned away from his house and fought back the panic that was welling in his chest, threatening to turn itself into an uncontrolled scream.

"Oh look, they're bringing out that bastard now," Patsy announced.

Jensen turned around and saw his father being led by two cops out of the house and down the front steps. His father wasn't wearing a shirt for some reason and his unsightly beer gut spilled over the top of his jeans. His hair was unkempt and his eyes were glossy, either from rage or alcohol, or both. Jensen stared at him, but not once did his father acknowledge him. Jensen took a step towards his father, and felt a restraining hand on his chest. He belatedly realized that there was a cop standing in front of him.

"Go inside the house, son. Your sister will be here soon."

* * *

Jensen sat on his bed and stared at the faded orange carpet that was in desperate need of being replaced. The cops told him that Meagan was checking in on their mom first, and then she would be over. Meagan had escaped the family as soon as she graduated. She had applied for scholarships left and right, and was ultimately accepted at a college one state over. She rarely visited and when she did she would often leave the day she arrived so she didn't have to spend the night. He envied her.

Jensen was left alone until well after midnight. By that time, he had only moved a fraction so that his legs were now sprawled on his bed and his back was against the wall. He stared at his hands, idly wondering if he would be able to sleep tonight and if he should bother going to school tomorrow. Distantly, he heard the front door open and close. Soft footsteps made their way to his room. His door was tentatively opened and his sister poked her head inside. Her eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed, but she smiled at him. "I wasn't sure if you would still be awake."

He shrugged and continued to stare at his hands, scared to speak in case the lump in his throat made itself known. Meagan hovered at the door, looking down at him with concern in her eyes. "Do you mind if I come in?"

Jensen didn't answer and Meagan took his silence as consent. She sat at the foot of his bed and laid one hand on his calf. "She's going to be okay. She broke her wrist when she fell and her face is pretty messed up, but she's going to be okay." She took her hand off of his leg and scooted up on the bed so she was beside him, leaning against his shoulder. For awhile, neither said anything. Then she made a squeaking noise and started digging around in her purse. "I bought something for you," she announced proudly. She finally retrieved a small book and placed it in his hands.

"What is it?"

"It's _Inuyasha_. Some of the ne-" she stopped herself quickly. "Some of the students at college are reading it."

Jensen turned the book over in his hands indifferently. "You mean the geeks?"

She shrugged. "The cool geeks."

Jensen shot her a condescending glare. "That's a ridiculous contradiction."

Meagan sighed. "Anyway, it seems to be really popular. I thought you might like it. Maybe help you branch out into the global comic scene."

Jensen flipped through the book. "How the hell are you supposed to read it?"

Meagan snatched the book from him and turned it over. "You start from the back."

Jensen shook his head and rolled his eyes. "Now that's just crazy talk," he mumbled.

Meagan laughed softly and then rested her head on his shoulder as he opened up the book and began reading the panels. She read over his shoulder until he finished the entire book.


	4. Chapter 4

Jensen's future after finishing high school was bleak. He had decent grades in school but not enough to qualify for scholarships. This, coupled with his parents' lack of funds, meant that Jensen had few options open to him. He considered finding a job out of high school, but the only ones available were in retail and he had enough retail jobs throughout high school to know that it wasn't a career option. There were plenty of firms hiring for IT positions, but only to those candidates with some sort of post-secondary degree. But there was one thing that was driving him the most; the need to get out. He needed to leave his home and possibly the entire state, but he had to devise a way in which that would be possible.

That's when an army recruiter just happened to stumble across him.

Jensen had grown in high school and filled out some. He wasn't huge but he wasn't scrawny either. He had started lifting weights in the school gym after classes and managed to build up some muscle. He was constantly experimenting with hair styles (faux hawk at the moment) and his facial hair was sprouting some serious five o'clock shadow that was specifically groomed that way.

Jensen was walking through the mall to distract himself from the very possible future in which he was a depressed computer salesman for the rest of his life. He had stopped in at a music store and bought nothing even though he had been there for over 20 minutes, and then a video game store (where he had to leave the store prematurely to prevent himself from buying too much). He gave up and was making his way back home when a large black man in army fatigues stepped in front of him. Jensen halted where he was, taken aback by the man's imposing figure and instantly shrinking into a defensive posture.

"Whoa, whoa, son. Sorry, didn't mean to alarm you. I just wanted to talk to you for a second." He smiled at Jensen, but it looked forced, as though the man had a difficult time looking approachable.

Jensen eyed him suspiciously. "'Bout what?"

"Have you thought about your future, son?"

Jensen shrugged and kicked at the ground. "You're not with some religious cult are you? Because I'm only interested in that type of thing if there's a promise of orgies involved."

The soldier looked stunned for a moment but then he exploded in laughter. "I like your attitude, son," he said when he caught his breath. "You got just the sort of thing we're looking for in today's army."

Jensen highly doubted that the army was keen on investing in nerds who played videogames 72 hours a week and jacked off the rest of the time, but he gave the man the benefit of the doubt.

"What's your name, son?"

"Jensen." He answered.

"Well, Jensen, tell me, have you ever wanted to travel the world and help people?"

Jensen searched his thoughts and pursed his lips. "Not really. Look, lets cut to the chase. Where's basic training, can I do it out of state, how much do you pay, do you have wi-fi and will you pay for education later on?"

The soldier blinked at him.

* * *

Where he had floundered in school, Jensen flourished in the army. To make things better, his wish for out of state training was granted. He was elated and his energy was palpable throughout basic training. Even through the drill sergeant's shrill yells and the constant chores and physical rigors, Jensen had a glimmer in his eye and a quick grin to follow. His fellow trainees often thought he was nuts.

One such trainee was a young black man with a shaved head and a cool disposition. Jensen's unbidden observer frowned as he watched the young man smile manically while doing push-ups. The kid was a dog, lapping up this training crap like it was his favourite meal. And Linwood "Pooch" Porteous knew a thing or two about dogs.

The other trainees had passed off Jensen as one of those psycho-masochistic types that would probably blow his own head off and someone else's by the end of basic training; a lá Full Metal Jacket style. But Pooch saw something different. Jensen had a quick wit and seemed to be ridiculously proficient with the communication gear. The kid had talent but Pooch was more interested to know if the kid was stable.

Jensen was in line at the mess filling his plate up with breaded pork-chops and mashed potatoes and doing his best to sweet-talk the soldier bitterly doling out mashed potatoes to give him a little bit extra. The man in the hair net glared at Jensen as he slapped down the potatoes harder than necessary, causing a few flecks of white flakes to splatter onto Jensen's glasses. Jensen smiled and thanked the man politely as he shuffled away, wiping away the potato from his glasses with the back of one hand.

Pooch cut into line to land beside Jensen as they pulled up to the veggies. Jensen was grimacing at the wilted cauliflower. "They do know that just because it tastes disgusting doesn't automatically make it healthier, right?"

"Jensen, right?" Pooch asked.

Jensen glanced at Pooch and nodded. He picked up one of the limp cauliflowers and held it in front of him, examining it like a scientific specimen. "They've drained any shred of nutrition by overcooking it!" He complained loudly.

Pooch grabbed the cauliflower and chucked it back into the steel bin with the others. Jensen's mouth dropped open. That didn't seem very hygienic. "Dude, leave it," Pooch commanded. "All the food here sucks. That's not what's important."

Jensen's head dipped to the side. "Apparently you missed chicken burger night."

Pooch blinked at him incredulously and then shook his head in disbelief. "Jensen, you listening? Look, I got to talk to you."

Pooch led Jensen to a secluded table in the back of the mess hall where they wouldn't be bothered. "People are talking about you Jensen," he said, monitoring Jensen's face for any sort of reaction.

Jensen smelt his mashed potatoes. His nose wrinkled in disgust. "You think they use real milk in these or that powdered crap?"

Pooch frowned. "What? No. I don't know. Look, who the fuck cares, man?" Pooch was feeling slightly flustered by Jensen's lack of focus. "Anyway, what I'm trying to say is, you all there man? Some people thinking you gonna go postal on us one day."

Jensen put down his fork and leaned into Pooch seriously. "Like Full Metal Jacket style?" He said in a lowered voice.

Pooch nodded emphatically. "Exactly. So tell me something Jensen, what are you getting out of this army shit?"

Jensen placed his elbows on the table and leaned in closely to Pooch. Pooch echoed the gesture. The two of them looked like they were discussing some sort of grand conspiracy. "I got a ticket out of my house for joining up. That was enough for me. But if you're worried about someone going a little over the cuckoo's nest, I'd check out Ernie over there."

Pooch turned his head to the pale, skinny kid known as Ernie, eating with a few others two tables down. "Ernie? Why Ernie? He's a good kid. Bit slow on the obstacle course, but he ain't bad."

Jensen snorted. "Yeah but his psych record says otherwise. When Ernie was 9, his mom abandoned the family and told him in no uncertain terms that it was his fault. After that, Ernie went off the reservation. He swung a cat by its tail into the base of a tree and broke its back. The owners were understandably pissed at little Ernie and tried to bring charges against him. His dad got the charges dropped but in return, little Ernie had to go for counselling. Let me tell you, his counselling records read like a Buffalo Bill in the making. Kid's got some serious issues with women. And cats, apparently."

Pooch's mouth was hanging open. "What the – how the hell do you know all this?"

Jensen shrugged nonchalantly as he tore into his milk carton and took a long swig. "I hacked his records."

Pooch was now staring at Jensen in unadulterated shock. "You hacked his records? Why did you hack Ernie's records?"

"If I'm going to be having these douchebags protect my back, it's nice to know which of the guys will actually protect it and which ones might 'accidentally' put a bullet in it, you know?"

Pooch did indeed know what Jensen was talking about as he was currently on a mission to discover if Jensen was just one of those guys. Pooch licked his lips and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Yeah, well…wait, how many other records have you hacked into?"

Jensen winked at him as he brought the milk carton to his lips. "Your parents still living in Fresno?"

* * *

Lieutenant Colonel Franklin Clay sat with his back to the door of a small room consisting of only one metal table and two chairs. He was scouring through several beige folders, licking his finger as he flipped through pages methodically.

The door swung open without a knock. The intruder strode to the other side of the table and swung a chair around backwards. Captain William Roque sat down, grasping the back of the chair and chewing furiously on a toothpick while he studied his superior's face for any sign of progress.

"So Colonel?"

The Colonel continued his undisturbed leafing of papers.

"Any prospects?" Roque prompted.

The Colonel paused on one particular file and tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Two, actually."

"Two?" Roque repeated. "Impressive. So who are these outstanding members of society?" He said, emphasizing the irony of the statement.

Clay passed him two folders, then sat back in his chair with his arms folded across his chest, awaiting Roque's reaction. Roque opened the first folder and began nodding approvingly. "So basically this little shit can drive or fly anything. Nice. That'll come in handy."

Clay said nothing. He was waiting for Roque to hit the second folder.

Roque said nothing, but his eyes narrowed critically as he reviewed the second folder containing Jake Jensen's profile. He finally looked up at Clay with disbelief painted across his face. "You gotta be kidding me Colonel. This guy?"

Roque held up the profile of a wildly grinning Jensen on the title page. "He's a nutcase. Look at him." Roque tapped on the picture impatiently. "He's happy to be in the army. You're not supposed to be happy to be in the army! What the hell's wrong with this fool?"

Clay sighed. "Keep reading."

Roque shrugged. "What? There's nothing here. Says his dad is some sort of to-do in the army and his mom is a former 4-H dairy princess with a nice inheritance coming her way. Sister's about to become a doctor…why the hell is this guy here again?" Roque looked up at Clay, who was grinning slightly.

"He shouldn't be. Anyone with that type of record should be at West Point, not here."

Roque shook his head and threw the folder onto the table. "I don't get it."

Clay reached across the table and picked up the folder. "That's just it. This record's been changed. There is no Jake Jensen Sr. in the U.S. army."

Roque blinked in surprise.

Clay chuckled as he looked at the folder's contents fondly. "Little shit changed it himself. Seems Jake Jr., or whatever his real name is, is quite the hacker."

Roque sat down in the chair and rubbed a hand over his face in resignation. "You telling me I got to pair up with some techno-geek?"

* * *

One day, as Jensen was bent over at the waist trying to catch his breath after completing a particularly brutal obstacle course, his life changed. It was raining and cold; sweat steamed off of Jensen's body through his soaked green t-shirt. While he was bent over saluting the mud, he noticed a pair of shiny black boots directly beneath his head. He slowly straightened to find a uniform with bright stars decorating it. Jensen saluted robotically. The man saluted back and ordered him at ease. Jensen stood with his legs slightly wide apart and his hands clasped firmly behind him.

There was an imposing black man behind the Lieutenant Colonel who was eyeing him up and down angrily. Jensen had no doubt that his man could break his neck with a simple twist of his hand if he ever tangled with him. Jensen wisely didn't stare at that man for long.

"Quite the course, huh Private?"

"Yes sir," Jensen answered evenly.

"Private…Jensen, is it?" Jensen nodded tersely as the man smiled at him. "Now is that Teddy Jensen or Jake Jensen?"

Jensen felt the colour rapidly drain out of his face. This was it. He'd been made. Court martial and ruin awaited him. His entire body deflated as he hung his head in defeat. But the response he received was even more astounding.

"I could use someone like you on my team."

Jensen's head bobbed up in surprise. "Your team, sir?" He repeated.

"A special team. Doing very special, very secret, very dangerous things."

Jensen looked from the Lieutenant Colonel to the Captain standing behind him and back to the Lieutenant Colonel. Neither looked like they knew the worth of a good joke so after some careful observation, he began to believe that they were indeed telling the truth. "Do I get to know what this team does?"

Clay took a step into Jensen. "No. You only get to answer yes or no to joining my team." He grinned at Jensen. "And it doesn't look like you're really in a position to say 'no' at this point. So I guess I'll just take that as a 'yes', then."

Jensen's eyes widened. This man had him by the balls and he knew it. "Yes?" He responded uncertainly.

Clay nodded once with a satisfied smirk and then pivoted on his heel to turn away. "Good choice. You'll receive your directions in the morning. See you then, Private."

The two men walked away, leaving Jensen in the rain by himself. A deep sense of foreboding grew within him. Those men were dangerous men. Jensen never classified himself as a man who embraced danger. With a deep groan, he wondered what sort of misadventure he had just signed up for.

* * *

Jensen was told to have his locker cleaned out, his belongings packed up and to be in uniform at 07:00 hours. His brain was still frantically trying to process just what the hell was going on while he stood outside the barracks with his duffel bag slung over one shoulder, fiddling nervously with the straps.

"Maybe Ashton Kutcher is waiting somewhere with a video camera," he mumbled absent-mindedly to himself. He kicked at the ground, dislodging a few pebbles beneath his steel-toed boot. Just then, a low rumbling caught his attention. He looked up and squinted through his glasses to see a Humvee ambling up towards him. The back door opened up and a voice from inside commanded him to get in.

Jensen tossed his duffel bag in first and then cautiously climbed into the Humvee. He was surprised to see Pooch sitting in the backseat as well. Jensen gave him a wry grin, relieved to see at least one familiar and somewhat friendly face. Friendlier than the two in the front seat, that was. Pooch nodded back at him, never once breaking the stern frown on his face.

"They got you into this too, hey?" Jensen remarked amiably to Pooch.

"No talking back there," Roque ordered.

Jensen flashed a wide-eyed glance at the front seat and then dutifully shut his trap. He sat stiffly in the seat and drummed his fingers nervously on his thighs.

"We gotta make one more stop. But then we'll be on our way," Clay informed from the front. He turned in his seat to look at both of them from behind aviator sunglasses. "And then I'll explain everything."

* * *

The next stop was a mental hospital 56 minutes away. Pooch and Jensen both wore similarly concerned faces as they pulled up to the front of the hospital. Clay hopped out.

"I'll be back in 5," he announced to the group.

Roque turned off the ignition and stared intently out of the window, chewing irately on his toothpick.

Jensen twiddled his thumbs some more and shot a questioning glance at Pooch who steadfastly ignored his inquiring look and instead leaned up against the side of the Humvee and chewed on his thumbnail. Jensen went back to staring at his fidgeting hands. He hated prolonged silences.

"So…what are we doing here, exactly?"

There was a pause before Roque finally answered him. "We're playing a relaxing game of shut the hell up and mind your own damn business."

Jensen nodded. "Right. Roger. Thanks for clearing that up, sir."

Roque twisted around in his seat and eyed Jensen up. Jensen smiled hopefully in return. Roque couldn't decide if he should kill him right then and there or wait for the Colonel to get back first. He should probably ask for permission. Clay tended to get very irate whenever he didn't as for permission first. With a displeased grunt, he sat back down and fantasized about the methods he would employ to gut the techno-geek.

* * *

Exactly 5 minutes later, Clay reappeared with a dark, lanky man in tow. Clay opened up the back door and motioned for the man to get in. Pooch and Jensen both blinked at the newcomer, who was clad in faded jeans, a leather hat and what appeared to be a hospital-issued shirt. The man likewise gave them appraising glances and then looked to Clay apprehensively. Clay motioned again, this time with a firm smile planted on his face. Jensen nearly laughed out loud at how forced the smile looked. The newcomer didn't seem too swayed by it either, but he nevertheless hopped into the Humvee beside Jensen.

Clay popped back into the passenger seat and gave Roque the order to take off. He obediently followed suit.

"Cougar, meet Jensen and Pooch. You already know myself and Roque."

Roque nodded respectfully at Cougar through the rear-view mirror. Cougar returned the slight motion with one of his own.

"So, Mr. Cougar, is it?" Jensen began. "What do you do for a living?"

Cougar glared sharply at Jensen, then stared out the window in stubborn silence.

"Cougar kills people with a very big gun," Clay answered for him. Then he began to list them off methodically. "Pooch drives. Jensen hacks. Roque demolishes. And I lead."

Glances were exchanged in the backseat, some amused, some wary and some downright puzzled.

"Boys, say hello to your new family."


	5. Chapter 5

Jensen got a perverse thrill out of the newly formed special ops team he found himself on. He no longer felt like an outsider or a freak that was faking it just to get by. He felt like he was living the life of a comic book character, and it was the single most satisfying thing he had ever done in his entire life. He finally felt somewhat cool; someone that small children might look up to and maybe, just maybe, he could even be considered a hot piece of ass for older women. But more importantly than that, he finally felt accepted.

He immediately liked everyone on his team. He looked up to his Lieutenant Colonel, admired him for his persistent cool and leadership, although he had to admit that he questioned his taste in women. As Roque so eloquently put it, the Colonel dug those crazy bitches.

Speaking of Roque, he was wary of the perpetually angry Captain, but respected his unparalleled skills as a soldier nonetheless. Nothing rattled the Captain in battle; it was almost as though he were missing the crucial "flight" part from the body's fight or flight system. While the rest of them were ducking and covering their heads during a firefight, the Captain was standing brazenly in front of the enemy and showering them with his own unflinching barrage of bullets.

He enjoyed Pooch immensely, particularly when he referred to himself in the third person. Pooch was a man with swagger, but he was able to laugh and Jensen appreciated a man with a good sense of humour. He studied Pooch too, as Pooch was the only man on the team with a serious relationship back home. He and his girl were planning on tying the knot as soon as the Colonel gave him a few weeks of leave, but in the meantime, the Pooch was always composing romantic emails to his lady friend. Jensen supposed that a lesser man would have felt self-conscious sending such sentimental love notes, but not Pooch. Pooch did it with such confidence that when Jensen made the bad comparison between Pooch and Nicholas Sparks, he merely paused in his typing, looked Jensen squarely in the eye and asked him how his love life was going and whether or not he still had any skin on his right palm left. Jensen wisely walked away and never bothered Pooch when he was emailing again.

Cougar was the complete opposite of Jensen. He was quiet and dangerous. But then Jensen talked enough for the both of them, and that suited Cougar just fine. He never told Jensen to shut up or made fun of him for being the nerd of the team. Needless to say, Cougar and Jensen became fast friends. And it wasn't that Cougar never spoke; indeed, Jensen had become rather proficient in deciphering Cougar's particular language of the eyes. Cougar's facial gestures may have been permanently formed into a serious scowl, but his eyes were incredibly expressive. It didn't take long for Jensen to figure out that knitted eyebrows meant he was thinking really hard about something, and wide-eyed blinking usually meant he was flabbergasted by something really idiotic that Jensen was considering doing. Like when he went to hit on girls. Jensen had a penchant for punching above his weight with girls, and as much as Cougar tried to dissuade him with his deer caught in the headlights look, Jensen more often than not went for it, which more often than not led to slapped cheeks and occasionally a very sore jaw when some threw hooks instead of open-palmed slaps.

The Losers, as Clay so lovingly named them, had become closer than his own family. That wasn't to say, however, that he hadn't kept up on issues at home. He called his mom sporadically, and sometimes even asked about his father. He frequently called his sister, who always seemed to breathe a sigh of relief when he called. He knew she worried about him being in the army; in fact, she never seemed crazy about the idea of him joining up in the first place, but her anxiety was considerably raised when Jensen cryptically told her that he was on a mission, and no, he couldn't talk about it, and no, he didn't know when he'd be back in the U.S., and no, he had no idea how long he'd be away.

He made an extra special effort, however, to be back home. when she announced her upcoming nuptials. The team was running recon in Afghanistan, tracking the daily movements of some Very Bad Men for later assault, when he got the news later on at the base. They made it back to the base in the afternoon, right when the sun was hitting its peak in the sky. Jensen jogged into the tent to get out of the blistering sun, wiping the sweat away from his forehead with the back of his arm. He was panting; the heat alone was making him feel sluggish and his limbs felt too heavy for his own body. The simple act of exiting the jeep and moving into the tent was taxing. He spied his laptop on the table and smiled as a wave of comfort swept over him. His laptop understood his pain.

He flipped it open eagerly and began scrolling through his emails. He was disinterested in most of the emails until his mouse landed on the subject line "Wedding?" Jensen frowned as he clicked it open. As he read the contents of the email, a myriad of emotions fluttered within him. He was thrilled for his sister, lustfully excited at the prospect of meeting her presumably single bridesmaids, angry at the jackass who thought he could just marry his sister without asking for his okay first, and anxious at the thought of begging the Colonel for leave.

In the end, he sucked up his pride and begged the Colonel on his knees for time off to see his big sister get hitched. The Colonel stared at him sternly from behind his makeshift desk of an old door stacked onto concrete blocks.

"Why? She pregnant or something?"

Jensen's mouth opened and closed like a gasping fish out of water. "No…?" he answered uncertainly. The thought never occurred to him. Instantly, he felt even angrier at the douchebag who may have knocked his sister up, even though he had no proof of this.

Clay's lips twitched upwards in mirth but he quickly hid it by covering his mouth with his hand. He shrugged nonchalantly. "We finish the mission first. Then we can all take some leave. How's that sound?"

Jensen's eyes lit up. "Perfect, sir. That's perfect." He leapt to his feet and slapped his palms together. "That's just great. Okay." Jensen hovered oddly in the Colonel's tent for a few moments, seemingly unsure of where his own tent was.

Clay studied him carefully. "You okay Sergeant?"

Jensen was chewing on his nails. He "hmm'd" as he nodded absently. "I just gotta…" he trailed off as he left the Colonel's tent. Clay shook his head ruefully as he went back to his paperwork. "Weird kid," he mumbled.

Jensen re-entered his tent and paced back and forth before his laptop. Finally, an idea formed in his head. He scrambled over to his laptop and began typing furiously away. "Okay Mr. Jensen-to-be, lets see what kind of dickhead you really are," he muttered towards the screen.

Two hours of illegal hacking later, Jensen could find no medical records of his sister that would indicate pregnancy, nor did he find anything more incriminating on his sister's fiancé than a few speeding tickets. He couldn't decide if he felt relieved by this or even more frustrated.

* * *

The mission did not go as smoothly as planned. Very Bad Men were also very wily and adept at hiding in caves. What had been slated as a "nab and get the hell out of there before their buddies find out" turned into an excavation mission as they were drawn into the twisting caves in pursuit. The Losers pursued, and Jensen found himself both fighting against the bullets that peppered the stone walls and the darkness of the cave itself. More than once he had been pulled back by Cougar, whose sharp instincts had detected the flare of a muzzle moments before a bullet lodged itself in the wall where Jensen's head had been. Jensen made a mental note to buy Cougar a shiny new gun when (and if) they got out of this alive.

Eventually, they caught up with the trio of men they were hunting, who were all important leaders in the Taliban. A fierce firefight ensued, and one of the men was injured, although not fatally. They were led out of the cave with their hands on top of their heads and into the armoured Hummer. They began the hurried drive back to the base, but just when Jensen began to comfortably think they were in the clear, shots pinged into the side of the Hummer. Cougar made his way to the large calibre gun mounted on the top of the Hummer, while Roque and Jensen hung out the windows and returned fire. Pooch drove on quickly but calmly, bobbing with the numerous dips in the road almost in sync to his bobble-headed Chihuahua on the dashboard. Clay stayed in the back and kept a firm eye on the three captives.

Needless to say, the mission took longer than it should have. Once the prisoners were handed off, Jensen raced back to his tent to pack up, talking fervently on a satellite phone to arrange flights out of Afghanistan and back to the U.S. Pooch and Cougar, who shared the tent with Jensen, watched his manic packing from their cots with blank stares. Clay poked his head into the tent and glanced at Jensen's spastic state. He winked at the other two observers. They grinned back.

"Sargeant?" Clay prompted.

Jensen was swearing under his breath because an army-appointed travel agent had put him on hold for the past 8 minutes. "Yeah, Colonel?"

"It might interest you to know that I just happen to have 5 first-class tickets out of this hellhole and back into the continental U.S. of A."

The phone dropped out of Jensen's stunned hands. He gaped at his Colonel.

Clay waved the tickets tantalizingly in front of Jensen's face. "The only thing I want to know is, how many bridesmaids your sister got?"

* * *

Jensen arrived at Meagan's house the morning of her wedding. Meagan had prudently prepared for such a hasty entrance. She had laid out a rented tux on the bed of the guest bedroom. Jensen smiled at the thoughtful gesture.

"I wasn't sure what would fit you anymore."

The voice startled him out of his reverie. He turned to find his sister standing in the doorway, her hair piled on top of her head in curlers and her make-up already applied.

Jensen smiled warmly at her. "I'm sure it's fine. You look beautiful." He kissed her on the cheek.

She appraised him up and down. "You've been working out." She cocked an eyebrow at him. "You're not taking steroids, are you?"

Jensen grinned mischievously at her. "I was wondering why my balls were shrinking."

She made a disgusted noise while smacking on him the chest. Then she pushed him back inside the room and ordered him to hurry his ass up and get dressed.

* * *

Jensen was a groomsmen to a man he had never met. Even though he immediately decided that he didn't like his new brother-in-law (guy looked kind of shifty with his clean hair and straight teeth and what was up with that Corolla he was driving?) he nonetheless did his best to be an upstanding groomsmen. The tux was admittedly a little tight, but Jensen didn't complain. He stood straight as an arrow in the Church with his hands clasped in front of him, smiling pleasantly as he awaited his sister's arrival down the aisle.

He had walked his mother in first; she had barely been able to contain her happy tears as she clutched onto his arm as if it were a lifeline. She looked nicer than he had seen her in years; the emerald green suit she wore matched her eyes. Her hair had darkened since he had last seen her and it was cut in a bob just below her chin. She looked unequivocally happy and Jensen couldn't have asked for more.

He spied his teammates in the back of the Church. Clay was wearing his signature black suit with white shirt, conveniently missing a tie as usual. Roque was wearing a very loud Hawaiian shirt. Jensen made a mental note to ask him what the hell was up with that as soon as the ceremony was over. Pooch was styling in a pin-stripe suit with a pale blue shirt underneath and a flashy gold chain around his neck. Cougar was clad all in black and his hat, which normally never left his head (Jensen suspected he even showered with it on), was respectfully sitting in his lap. As each bridesmaid walked down the aisle, Jensen could see every single Loser looking her up and down and then arguing quietly amongst themselves on which one got to hit her up afterwards. Jensen shook his head. _Idiots._

The massive doors to the interior chapel swung open and the music suddenly changed to the traditional bridal march. The air in Jensen's lungs hitched. Meagan paused in the doorway, allowing everyone in the Church to stand and take in the bride. She was poised, regal-like and looked like a picture of calm. Her dress was fitted around the top, but flared dramatically at the waist. She looked like a princess. Jensen swelled with pride. Then he shot a quick, threatening glance at the groom. _Hurt her and I'll bust a cap in your ass, _he thought forcefully. The groom, however, ignored the look if he even registered it at all. He stared firmly ahead, smiling from ear to ear as he took in his wife-to-be.

Their father, who looked stiff and uncomfortable in his tux, led Meagan down the aisle. Jensen took stock of the look on Bob's face. It was a mixture of stern duty and something else; almost a sober sadness. Something fluttered in Jensen's stomach, a mixture of emotions that colluded into a cloud of confusion. At the end of the aisle, Bob stiffly kissed Meagan on the cheek and then took her hand off his arm and gently placed it in her groom's open palm. Then Bob took his place in the pew beside his wife, who was now dabbing at her eyes with a Kleenex.

Jensen looked from his sister to his parents, and thought that for a moment, just one moment, they looked like a normal, healthy family. He made a mental picture of the scene for posterity's sake, because he strongly doubted the chances of this ever happening again.

* * *

Jensen was on another tour of duty when he got yet another email that stole his breath away. This time the subject line read "Uncle". He squinted at the reference and opened up the email with some amount of interest. Then his jaw dropped open.

Pooch and Cougar walked into the barracks where they were stationed and immediately registered the unadulterated shock on Jensen's face as he was hunched over his laptop. Cougar seemed immediately concerned and frowned at Pooch. Pooch looked like he was doing his best to hold in his laughter. They approached Jensen tentatively.

"Jensen, you okay man?" Pooch asked.

Jensen floundered for words as he gesticulated towards the screen. "She's, uh. Huh. Well, it would appear…wow, that's just so sudden, I mean they've only been married for 2 years and it, uh…"

Pooch and Cougar exchanged wary glances. "Jensen, spit it out already," Pooch commanded.

Jensen bit his nails. "I'm gonna be an uncle."

Both men straightened. Cougar looked quizzically at Jensen while Pooch broke into a wide grin. "Congratulations man! Aw man, I remember when my first nephew was born. That was something really special." Pooch stared off absently as he absorbed himself in fond memories.

Jensen still didn't seem too comforted. "What do I do? Like, what am I supposed to do?" He anxiously asked.

Pooch shrugged. "What do you mean, 'what do I do'? You're gonna be an uncle man, that's the best job in the world! You get to take the little kid to waterparks and movies, and then at the end of the day when they start to get grouchy or they need a diaper change, you just give them back to mom and dad! You buy them some cool Christmas and birthday presents and boom, your title as 'The Cool Uncle' is set in stone."

Jensen took all of Pooch's sage wisdom in seriously. It calmed him down considerably. He began nodding, slowly at first and then with more vigour as he began to picture his newfound role. "Yeah, yeah. No, you're totally right! The waterpark, that's awesome! I haven't been to a waterpark in years…" Jensen turned back to his laptop and began typing quickly. "I wonder where the closest waterpark in New Hampshire is," he muttered.

Pooch and Cougar stared at him. "Yeah, but that's not going to be for a few years, Jensen." Pooch informed. "You kind of have to wait until the kid can hold up its own head before you boot it down a waterslide."

Jensen squinted at Pooch questioningly. "Hold up its own head? Why can't it hold up its own head?"

Pooch shook his head hopelessly and clapped Jensen on the back as he began to exit the room. "You got a lot to learn about kids, Jensen." Cougar nodded emphatically as well, although Jensen doubted that Cougar had much more experience with children than he did.

After they left, Jensen hopped back onto the internet and started absorbing as much as he could about pregnancy, the birthing process and newborns.

* * *

The team was gathered around a dimly-lit table at close to midnight, listening intently as Clay outlined the latest plan on a weathered map, drawing circles in a red felt marker to emphasize certain muster points. That was when an unknown soldier interrupted and tapped Jensen on the shoulder.

"Sir, someone's calling for you. Says it's urgent."

Jensen nodded at the soldier, shrugged his apology at the others and stepped away so he could take the phone call. Clay carried on for a few seconds until the whole base seemed to come to a screeching halt when Jensen shouted out "Ohmigod, is she crowning?" 5 sets of eyes (the team plus the messenger soldier) blinked at Jensen. After a few more minutes of mumbling "uh huh" and "yeah" and "okay" in the phone, he hung up. He looked over at them with profound relief etched into his features.

"It's okay, her water just broke. But she hasn't had her bloody show yet."

5 jaws hit the floor.

* * *

Considering most people thought he had attention deficit disorder, Jensen was actually remarkably calm and patient on the battlefield. Tonight, however, he was all nerves and impatience. He and Cougar were perched high atop a hill overlooking the valley where Clay and the others were carrying out another 'snatch and grab' mission. He was maintaining communications and monitoring, while Cougar was covering the other three with his long-range sniper rifle. Jensen's knee was bobbing up and down and he kept glancing at his watch. "Come on, come on," he muttered. Cougar turned away from his gun and shot Jensen a warning glare. Jensen stopped fidgeting and apologized to Cougar for distracting him. "But seriously, it's only one guy and a handful of bodyguards. How long does that take?"

As soon as the words exited his mouth, the fighting began. The sharp staccato of automatic machine guns mixed with panicked shouts and commanding yells. "Here we go," Cougar announced. He hunched over his rifle and began picking off insurgents one by one. Jensen monitored his team's progress through a pair of night vision goggles, directing them to the rallying points by walkie-talkie.

In all, the mission was a success, remarkably so given how quickly it was executed. Despite this, Jensen encouraged Pooch to drive faster, whipping him with his urgent words from the backseat. If Pooch hadn't understood the underlying reason for Jensen's utterly annoying behaviour, he would have threatened to stop the jeep so Jensen could get out and walk all the way back. Instead, he bit his lip and muttered his threats under his breath as he pushed the jeep on faster. Clay praised Pooch silently from the passenger seat for both his consideration and immense show of restraint.

Roque, on the other hand, possessed no such restraint, and wasted little time in leaning over to cuff Jensen upside the head.

* * *

The team waited patiently outside of Jensen's tent, when they finally heard him whoop loudly. Moments later, he popped his head through the tent opening and announced that it was a girl, her name was Hannah Elizabeth, she weighed 7 pounds - 6 ounces and was 19 inches long. The team stared blankly at him while he listed off her statistics, looked uncertainly to each other for guidance in these matters, then nodded appreciatively when he finished. Jensen was glowing, grinning from ear to ear and staring off into the night sky with a dreamy look. Each man clapped him on the back and gave him their congratulations as they turned in for a well-deserved rest.

Jensen couldn't sleep at all that night and instead scoured the internet for deals on tricycles and laptops. _Kid is never too young to start learning the wonders of technology,_ he reasoned.

* * *

Although they preferred their travel to be on army-commissioned flights, it wasn't rare for the team to fly to other countries on regular airplanes like a regular citizen. So the fact that the Losers were gathered in Chicago's O'Hare airport was not entirely out of place. Still, the team in general disliked travelling alongside families with screaming babies and a year's worth of cumbersome luggage. They looked and felt out of place.

Clay was scanning the ever-changing message board to find their flight and estimated time of departure. Cougar was busying himself by checking in everyone's baggage and applying the stickers himself. Pooch was doing his best to ignore everyone and everything and was leaning casually against a post with his sunglasses on and his arms crossed against his chest. Roque was the complete opposite and instead scrutinized everyone who crossed his path as though they were a potential hostile.

Jensen, on the other hand, was talking on his cell phone. He had received a call almost as soon as they had entered the airport. After he had answered, he glanced at the team and walked away a few steps. Now he was standing with his back to the team and his free hand jammed in his jean pocket. Pooch was watching him with mild interest.

He finally hung up the phone just as Clay had announced which gate they were heading to. Jensen's face was drawn. Pooch tapped him on the chest as he walked by. Jensen looked at the offending arm on his chest first, then belatedly at Pooch. Pooch's eyebrow raised at him. "Y'alright, Jensen?"

Jensen stared at him for a moment. Pooch was troubled by the distant look in Jensen's eyes. Nonetheless, Jensen nodded. "Yeah Pooch. I'm okay." He tried to give Pooch a reassuring smile but failed miserably. Pooch stared long and hard at him as Jensen reached down to grab his baggage. Something was up.

* * *

They travelled coach. The army rarely sprang for first class tickets for them and it only served as another reason the team preferred an uncomfortable jump seat to anything domestic airlines had to offer. Squashed into their seats, the team did their best to cope with the conditions. Cougar promptly covered his face with his hat so he could sleep. Clay had brought a novel with him and began to read as soon as he was buckled in. Roque was giving a mischievous-looking toddler in the seat next to him the evil eye and Pooch was monitoring Jensen, who was staring out the window with glazed-over eyes.

It was only natural that as soon as the airplane was in the sky and miles away from any sort of comfort, the commotion of travel truly began. That's when the person sitting behind Clay consistently kicked the back of his chair as he squirmed in his seat attempting to find a somewhat comfortable position. That was also when the elderly woman sitting beside Cougar hacked out a lung and Cougar prayed to the Virgin Mary that whatever she had wasn't contagious. And that was when the toddler sitting next to Roque screamed loudly because the big scary man next to him was looking at him weird. That was also when the stewardess was doing her best to press packages of stale pretzels on everyone, even if they were trying to sleep. Amid all the noise, Jensen continued to stare out the window listlessly.

"Sir, would you like some pretzels? Sir? Sir, I said, would you like some pretzels?"

The stewardess with the plastered on smile was waving a bag of pretzels at Jensen as if it were a life or death situation. Jensen continued to ignore her, which the stewardess clearly didn't appreciate. Pooch finally glared at her.

"He doesn't want the fucking pretzels."

The stewardess glanced at Pooch as her smile instantly faded. She glared at them both and pushed her cart down the aisle furiously. Pooch knew that she would find some way of getting revenge on both of them. He had a feeling that a beverage cart would soon find its way into his elbow somehow, but he didn't care. Jensen's extremely odd behaviour had him on edge.

Across the aisle, Roque was now arguing with the parents of the toddler who were questioning him on what his problem was and would he please not look at their child.

"Well, then you tell your freaky-assed little ginger kid to quit staring at ME!" He lobbed back.

The toddler burst into tears and began wailing loudly at the insult. Several women gasped at Roque's outburst. A stewardess came by to ask if there was a problem. Roque began explaining his side of the story to her. That's when Clay stepped in and offered to switch seats with Roque. Roque (and the parents of the toddler) gladly agreed.

Clay sat next to the toddler who eyed him up and down. Clay smiled warmly back. Then he leaned over and whispered to the child "I'll give you a brand new toy if you don't make any noise for the rest of the trip."

The child looked at him suspiciously. "What kind of toy?"

Clay racked his brain and thought about the carry-on bag he had stowed in the compartment above him. "A really cool…watergun."

The child seemed to think this was sufficient and grinned zealously at the thought of the reward at the end of the trip. In the seat behind him, Roque threw his hands into the air and scoffed.

* * *

Colombia was their final destination. A drug kingpin was their target. He was an extremely wealthy man with a veritable army stationed at his compound. Their orders were to bring him in alive to a rallying point, where he would be extradited to the US for further questioning. He was believed to be a key component of a huge drug ring that spanned 4 continents, and his contacts would be invaluable. It was a dangerous mission, but Clay's team seemed to thrive when the odds were overwhelmingly against them.

It was only when they were gearing up for a trek through the Colombian jungle to scout the compound that Clay noticed Jensen's silence. He finally caught Pooch's wary glances at their resident hacker. Cougar too had caught on to Pooch's concern and now eyed Jensen with his own special brand of scrutiny that most people mistook for a deadly glare. Roque hadn't noticed, as he was too busy strapping a variety of knives to his body, but Clay was dismayed at his own belated awareness. He approached Jensen, who was adjusting the controls on their earpieces.

"Jensen, you feeling okay?"

Jensen nodded, but didn't look at Clay. "I'm good."

Clay instinctively knew that Jensen was anything but good. "You can sit this one out, if you're not up to it."

Jensen finally looked at Clay, but a fire blazed behind his eyes that took the Colonel by surprise. "I said I'm good. Lets do this."

He stalked by Clay and the others. Clay looked over at Pooch, who shrugged in bewilderment.

* * *

Jensen's orders were to knock out all communications within the compound. In their initial scouting of the perimeter, Jensen had spied a small shed with a satellite dish perched on its flat roof. He had identified the hub of their communications and planned to go in and jam all the signals. Clay and Roque would be going in after their target, while Pooch and Cougar would provide outside coverage. An airlift by helicopter had been arranged for their exit.

Jensen made his way around the back of the shed, creeping alongside the outside of the metal frame until he spied a side door. A man was leisurely smoking beside the door, an AK-47 slung over his shoulder. Jensen crept up beside him and knocked the butt of his gun into the man's neck. He made a choked, gagging noise before falling over backwards, grasping wildly at both his neck and his gun. Jensen brought the butt of his gun down hard on the man's temple. The man stopped moving after that.

Jensen snuck into the shed with his rifle drawn. There were three men inside; all were armed, but at the moment they looked like they were joking around with each other. Radio, computer and visual equipment lined the wall. He knew that after he began firing, he wouldn't have much time to kill the communications. He needed to move fast. Taking cover behind some steel barrels, he trained his gun on the closest hostile and fired. The man went down without firing a shot in return. The other two immediately leap to their feet and fired their guns reactively, without even spying where Jensen was shooting from. He took care of them neatly. But from outside the shed, he could already here the starts of a bigger firefight as the rest of his team advanced on the compound. Jensen headed to the radio controls first and fiddled around he found the frequency that the compound used. He jammed that signal first. Then he slid over to the television screens and turned off the security cameras throughout the compound one by one. Finally, he sat in front of the computer and began exploring various files on the hard drive. He spotted a program called "". Shrugging to himself, he deleted the program. To his surprise, there was a loud hum that quickly died, along with all the lights and electricity with it. The computer died in front of him.

"They had all their power computerized? Hmmm." Jensen mused. He sat wondering about the motivation for having all the power run through one computer when he was taken by surprise with the feeling of a cold gun barrel to the back of his neck. His heart fluttered wildly in his chest as he resignedly put his hands in the air.

"Up," the man commanded.

Jensen did as he was told and slowly rose out of the seat he was in.

"Lets just relax here, buddy. We'll take it easy," Jensen coaxed. Without warning, Jensen spun around and grabbed the gun by the barrel. A shot echoed out and made a sharp ping as it rebounded off the metal walls. Jensen punched the guard in the nose, breaking it. The man reflexively grabbed at his nose that was spurting blood. Jensen punched him again, this time across the cheek. The man went down to the ground, hard. Jensen leapt on top of him, pinning him down as he sat on his chest and delivered punch after punch.

The man had completely stopped moving by the time someone grabbed Jensen from behind and physically hauled him off of the unconscious, bleeding guard. Jensen swung around, yelling at whoever was holding him to get off. Jensen was spun around and strong arms shook him.

"Jensen! Get a hold of yourself!" Clay commanded.

Jensen froze. Reality washed back over him in a wave of shame. He looked down at the broken man on the floor and his own bleeding, bruised knuckles. He looked back up at Clay with guilt in his eyes.

"Time to go," Clay said quietly.

Jensen nodded and mutely followed him out of the shed. A Black Hawk chopper was just levelling down when Roque strode up to it, manhandling a surprisingly small man that was their target kingpin. Pooch and Cougar were still keeping cover, but relaxed a bit when they saw the Colonel walking away from the shed with Jensen in tow. Pooch flashed a quick grin and hopped into the chopper. Cougar maintained his stance, scanning the area, when something caught his attention in the house. Cougar's eyes squinted as his finger tightened on the trigger of his gun. Clay turned to the house where Cougar was aiming and his eyes widened in shock. He turned to Jensen, who seemed oblivious to the world.

"Get down!" he yelled.

Jensen looked up, barely registered the Colonel's words, heard Cougar's loud shot echo through the buildings, but heard something else that made him turn his head towards the main house. It was a high-pitched whining noise, and he recognized it instantly – an RPG. He glimpsed the shell of the grenade as it soared past him and right into the shed where he had been moments before. The shed exploded into a fireball of searing metal.

Jensen was lifted off his feet and thrown like a football. He landed on his stomach a few feet away, and the hard ground smacked his face and punched all of the air out of his chest. There was a moment when Jensen couldn't see, couldn't breathe and couldn't hear. He would later come to think of that moment as being quite blissful compared to what came afterwards.

When he began to gain control of his sense, the first one to assault him was his hearing. His ears were ringing violently; painfully pulsing in his brain. He opened his eyes and squinted through the blurriness. His glasses had been blown off his face and were lying just out of his reach. He tried to reach for them, but realized to this horror that his body refused to respond. He attempted to roll over onto his back, but the only thing that happened was a searing pain that flared up along his back. He grit his teeth together against the razor-like waves. Dimly, he was aware that there were a lot of panicked voices in the background, but try as he could to distinguish them, all he heard was incoherent mumbles and the constant ringing in his head. Someone was touching him on the arm, feeling his neck for a pulse. It was Clay. Jensen tried to talk to him, tell him he was okay, but for some reason couldn't form any words. The Colonel was yelling for something, but Jensen couldn't make out what. More hands were touching him, and then they were turning him over. His back screamed in protest and Jensen made a guttural groan that seemed to alarm whoever it was that was touching him because they momentarily stopped in their movements. Then someone was touching his face, and Jensen made a Herculean effort at opening his eyes to see who it was. Clay had his face just inches above Jensen's and he was holding both sides of Jensen's face in his calloused hands. The look in Clay's eyes was frantic desperation. That confused Jensen. He concentrated on Clay's lips, doing his best to read the Colonel's words instead of hearing them, because he wasn't sure if his ears were even attached to his head anymore. He finally made out what the Colonel was trying to say to him.

"Stay with me."

Jensen's eyes rolled up into the back of his head as he passed out.

* * *

The soft, steady beat of a heart rate monitor was the first thing Jensen heard. It was quiet otherwise, and he didn't feel any sort of urgent desire to wake up. He took his time and eventually opened his eyes. There was a rustle of a magazine being closed beside his bed. The squeak of a chair being pushed away followed. Then, while Jensen was still blinking and squinting against the blurriness, a face popped into his vision. Jensen willed his poor eyesight to focus as much as possible, until he could just make out the concerned frown of his Colonel.

"How ya feeling?" Clay asked.

Jensen honestly didn't know. He wiggled his toes and flexed his fingers, relieved to know that he could still feel all limbs attached and working. He tried to shrug but felt a sharp twinge in his back instead. He cringed.

"Don't move around too much. You got some bad burns to your back. You also got clocked in the head by a two-by-four."

All of that made sense to Jensen. "How long was I out?"

"Long enough to be shipped back to the U.S. It's Wednesday."

Jensen groaned. He had been unconscious for two whole days. "Everyone else okay?"

Clay shrugged. "They're fine. You got the worst of it." Clay stared at Jensen intently, and Jensen shrunk back into the bed under the scrutiny. "What's going on with you, Jensen? What happened back in Colombia, because that's not the person I know. You were angry and distracted. What's got you so rattled?"

Jensen focused on the ceiling and refused to look his superior in the eye. Clay waited patiently for an answer. When Jensen finally spoke, it was little more than a whisper.

"My dad's dead."

* * *

He missed the funeral while he recuperated in the hospital. The Colonel had explained to Mrs. Jensen that there was a slight hitch in their most recent mission, and Jensen would unfortunately be back a bit later than anticipated. Jensen would have to find some way of repaying Clay for that small kindness. The last thing he needed was a hovering mother at his bedside. He already had Cougar shoving every kind of painkiller and vitamin known to man down his throat.

When his burns had finally healed enough for Jensen to walk without passing out, he was released from the hospital and put on leave indefinitely. Jensen disliked that immensely. As soon as he was able, he was going back out with the team. As it was, he had some unfinished business to attend to.

He caught a flight from L.A. to Omaha and had a cab drive him directly to the grave. It was pouring rain and Jensen didn't have either an umbrella or a waterproof jacket, but he didn't care. He walked up to his father's grave with his fists jammed in his pockets, shivering against the cool rain that soaked through his thin jacket and ran down the sides of his face. He stared at the tombstone that simply read "Robert Jensen, 1950 – 2010". No words of devotion or nostalgia, the tombstone was just as simple as a "he was here" message spray painted on a brick wall. As Jensen stared at the grave, a myriad of emotions washed over him. He at once wanted to punch the stone in anger and the next minute start bawling like a child. He wanted to know why he had been given that man as a father, and not someone else. He wanted to know if his father had ever truly loved him, but at the same time, he wasn't sure that he cared whether or not he did. He felt betrayed at his father dying so soon, without Jensen having a chance to have some final words with him. What he would have said was beyond him, but he still felt ripped off somehow. Despite the complex emotions swirling around him like a vortex, his face remained impassive.

"It was a heart attack," a voice said from behind him.

Jensen jerked upright and spun around to face his mother. She was in a trench coat and holding an umbrella above her head. There were bags under her eyes, but there was also a different expression on her face than he had ever seen. Something close to contentment, he supposed. She walked towards him and held the umbrella high above them so that he could get some reprieve from the rain.

"It was at home. He was watching tv when it happened. Just keeled over and died right there in his favourite chair." She shrugged. She looked past Jensen's shoulder to where his father now lay.

"How did you know I would be here?" Jensen asked softly.

His mother gave him a slow, sad look. "I just knew," she said as she touched his cheek softly. As her hand began to fall, he clasped it in his palm and squeezed gently. He didn't let go. "The bond between a father and his son is a difficult one to break," she murmured. She looked up into his eyes. "No matter how far you run."

Jensen studied her and felt a sudden rush of anger. "Why didn't you run?" He asked hotly. "Why didn't you just pack me and Meagan up and take us out of there? Why did you stay?" Jensen asked, desperation creeping into his voice and making it crack.

His mother looked to the ground and breathed in slowly. When she looked back up at her son, she took in the man he had become and the army life he had embraced. He didn't seem to mind the new scars he had endured in the army. But underneath that invincible exterior, she could easily detect older scars that would never heal no matter how much time had passed. Fresh tears glimmered in her eyes.

"Because not all of us had an escape plan."

THE END

_Thanks for reading!_


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